


Born to Do

by moondragon23



Category: Psych
Genre: Action, Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moondragon23/pseuds/moondragon23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There are two kinds of cops: those who choose to do the job and those born to the job.”</p><p>Lassiter and Juliet are trapped in a warehouse with a gang who wants them dead. Only help from an unlikely source will give them the chance to make it out of there alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born to Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redwolffclaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwolffclaw/gifts).



> I do not own Psych or any of its characters. All other publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. 
> 
> This story is a birthday fic for Redwolffclaw. Happy Birthday girl! Hope you like it.

Carlton ducked lower behind the crate as a bullet lodged itself where his head had been moments before. “I count eight men, three to the right, five to the left. Possibly more further back in the warehouse.” He kept his voice steady, but his eyes were grim as he turned to look at her.

“Backup will be here in twenty minutes,” Juliet said. Carlton nodded, checking the magazine in his gun before snapping it back into place. She did a quick check of her own gun, trying to keep her hands from shaking. Both of them knew ten minutes was a long time under these conditions.

“We need to find somewhere more secure,” Carlton said. “I spotted a group of refrigerators along the east wall. They should provide better cover than these crates.” He peeked over the crate, ducking back down quickly as the gang fired at him. “They're starting to split up, so we have to move fast.” He looked over at her, nodding at her gun. “How are you on ammo?”

“Almost a full magazine plus a backup,” Juliet said. He reached into his pocket and handed her another magazine.

“Our best bet is to head towards the shelves. It's less direct, but it will provide more cover,” Carlton said, pointing in the direction they had to go. She nodded and they headed out, keeping low as they weaved between the crates, the dim lighting helping to conceal them.

There was a small gap between the crates and the shelves, the two sections making one corner of an L around an area of open floor. “My turn,” Juliet said, moving to the end of the crate and looking out into the open space. She could see the eight gang members Carlton had mentioned, carefully scanning their surroundings for any sign of the two cops. “Looks like they lost us.”

Carlton crouched next to her, holding his gun ready. “Tell me when.”

Juliet waited until the nearest men were looking away from them before giving Carlton the signal to move. He darted across the gap, Juliet quickly following. Both breathed a sigh of relief when they reached safety without anyone firing at them. It was the first piece of luck they had had all night.

There had been a rash of deaths resulting from cocaine laced with fentanyl, a powerful painkiller. Shawn had had a vision earlier that day that the gang flooding the streets with the tainted cocaine was the Perro Locos, one of the most feared gangs in town. Carlton hadn't believed him, since all the evidence pointed to the Moretz gang, a relatively new group who had only recently upped their game to drug trafficking.

Carlton had continued with his plan to tail two members of the Moretz gang to find out where the drugs were coming from. After following them around the city for a few hours, they had come to this warehouse. Seeing no sign of anyone else in the area, they cautiously followed them into the building.

They watched as the two Moretz gang members met with several members they recognized as Perro Locos members, proving Shawn was right at the gang's involvement. The conversation quickly grew heated, leading to the deaths of both Moretz members. Knowing they couldn't take on the gang on their own, they had tried to sneak back out of the building. Unfortunately, there were more members in the building than they originally thought and they were soon spotted. They barely made it to cover as the bullets started flying. Juliet managed to get a call through for backup before the radio became the first casualty of the evening, leaving them on their own.

Juliet peeked around the shelf to check on the gang's position. She cursed softly under her breath.

“What's wrong?” Carlton asked.

“Big guy with the snake tattoo is missing,” she said. “And I can see more guys coming up from the back.”

“We need to keep moving. We'll follow this aisle down and turn right as soon as we can,” Carlton said.

They moved slowly down the aisle, trying to be as quiet as possible. They were almost to the end when Juliet froze, putting a hand up to stop Carlton. “I heard something up ahead,” Juliet whispered.

“Go check it out,” Carlton said.

Juliet crept forward, peeking cautiously around the end of the aisle.

No one was there.

She stepped out slowly, alert for any sign of movement. The next aisle was clear as well. It could have been an animal, but she checked a few more aisles to be safe. She didn't see anything, though she was getting the uneasy feeling of being watched. She hurried back towards Carlton, wanting to get them moving again as quickly as possible.

She was just entering the aisle where she left Carlton when she heard a noise behind her. She turned, raising her gun, as a shot rang out. The man who had been sneaking up behind her fell, clutching a bleeding wound on his shoulder. His gun had dropped from his grasp and she quickly kicked it away.

“You okay?” Carlton shouted.

“Fine,” she said glancing over at him. “Look out!” She raised her gun but already knew it was too late.

The man Juliet had lost track of had snuck around behind them, his gun pointed at Carlton. “Drop the gun, cop,” Snake Guy said. When Carlton didn't immediately comply, he stepped closer and pressed the gun against the back of Carlton's head. “Do it.” As Carlton slowly lowered his gun to the ground, Snake Guy looked over at Juliet. “You too. Drop the gun.”

Juliet didn't move, keeping her weapon trained on Snake Guy. The gang had been shooting to kill, proving they had no interest in taking hostages. The minute she dropped her guard, they were both dead.

Snake Guy jerked Carlton to his feet, holding his gun to her partner's temple. “Do it or your partner's dead,” he snarled. Juliet looked at Carlton. He gave the slightest shake of his head, telling her not to listen to Snake Guy. She tightened her grip on her gun, trying desperately to think of a plan to get them out of this.

A shot sounded and Snake Guy suddenly jerked forward, his grip on Carlton slackening. Carlton took advantage, elbowing the man hard in the gut and twisting out of his grip. As soon as her partner was clear Juliet fired, hitting Snake Guy twice in the chest. He silently fell backwards to the floor.

Carlton went over to the body as she ran up to him. After confirming the man was dead, he flipped him over, revealing a gunshot wound on his back. “Whoever shot him had to be high enough to clear the shelves,” he said quietly.

She crouched down next to him. After a quick glance at the body, she turned her focus to her partner. Her hands shook as she checked him over, looking for any injuries.

He grabbed her hands, holding them gently. “O'Hara, I'm fine,” he said. The slight quiver to his voice and his own shaking hands told a different story. She looked into his eyes, seeing traces of the fear he had been feeling moments before when it had looked like he was going to die.

She pulled him into a hug, putting aside her own fears to comfort her partner. She could feel him trembling as he returned the embrace, holding her tightly against him. He took a deep shuddering breath, letting it out slowly. “That was close,” he said softly.

She nodded, feeling his shaking starting to ease. The feel of her partner's warm, living body in her arms helped calm her as well, reminding her that he was still alive.

After a moment he pulled away, standing up and pulling her to her feet. “Those shots gave away our position. We need to move before someone comes to check it out.” He gave her hand one last squeeze before leading the way down the aisle.

They had made it several aisles before a couple shots sounded behind them. They froze, guns at the ready. They heard the panicked shouts of the gang members as they returned fire, aiming away from them. Juliet exchanged a look with Carlton, realizing whoever had killed Snake Guy seemed to now be going after the other gang members.

They took advantage of the distraction, quickly moving down the aisles. They heard shouting in the distance as the men tried to figure out where the shots were coming from. Listening carefully, Juliet narrowed it down to the far corner of the warehouse opposite them. She remembered seeing a second floor office along with a catwalk that ran along the west wall. Since the shooter would have needed height to hit Snake Guy, that was likely where he was.

They paused at the end of the last aisle. Between the shelves of appliances and the refrigerators was an eight feet of open space. Carlton cautiously peered around the last shelf, pulling back quickly as several shots rang out. “Three men. The rest are probably occupied taking trying to take out the shooter. This is our best chance to get across.”

A shot was fired, followed by a cry of pain from in front of them. “Two men,” Carlton corrected. He ejected the magazine in his gun and put popped in a fresh one. “You go first. I'll cover you.”

Carlton flattened against the end of the aisle, hand raised as he watched for the best moment for her to cross. She crouched next to him, muscles tense, waiting for his signal.

“Now!”

She quickly darted across the space as Carlton started firing. One guy dropped quickly, the other managing to make it to cover before Carlton could get him. She made it to safety, taking a moment to catch her breath before peering carefully around the edge of the fridge. She immediately pulled back as several bullets hit the metal near her.

She heard Carlton firing again, but knew from her brief glimpse he didn't have the right angle to hit the third man. The firing stopped and she knew Carlton was going to make a run for it. “Idiot,” she muttered under her breath, readying herself in case she had to go rescue her partner.

The firing started up again, along with running footsteps. She heard a loud curse, then Carlton was diving behind the fridge next to her, blood soaking his sleeve. He leaned up against it, breathing hard. “Shooter took the last guy out. We should be fine here until backup arrives.”

“Let me see your arm,” Juliet commanded.

“It's just a graze,” Carlton protested, hissing in pain as she examined the wound. It didn't appear too deep, though it was bleeding steadily.

“We need to bandage this,” she said. She started to pull off her jacket when Carlton stopped her.

“Use mine, it's already ruined,” he said. He carefully removed the jacket, cursing when he pulled it off his injured arm. She folded it and tied it tight around his arm. It wasn't pretty, but it would have to do for now.

Juliet heard a faint cry of pain from across the warehouse, followed by the cheering of the gang members. It sounded like they had managed to finally take out the shooter. She could only spend a brief moment hoping whoever it was hadn't been killed. With no one else to distract them, the gang would now be focusing all their attention on the two detectives.

Carlton had heard the cheering too. “We need to get into a more defensible position.” He struggled to his feet, grudgingly accepting Juliet's hand to help him up. “The row seems to narrow near the wall. If we take up positions at both ends, we should be able to hold them off long enough for back up to get here.”

“Are you going to be able to shoot?” Juliet asked, nodding at his arm.

He carefully tested his injured limb, grimacing at the pain. “I'll manage.”

They found a stretch about ten feet long where the gap between refrigerators was barely wide enough for two people. With one at each end, it should be defendable long enough for backup to arrive. They took their positions, tense and ready for the slightest hint of movement.

The first man appeared on her side. She dropped him quickly, taking a shot at his friend as he ducked back out of view. She heard Carlton behind her also firing, the gang coming at them from both sides.

The men were growing more cautious, firing at her while keeping mostly hidden around the corner. She took what shots she could, knowing at least a few of them hit their mark. She took a moment to change out her magazine, considering the idea of going for the downed gang member's gun if this stand off lasted much longer.

She ducked as a bullet clipped the top of the fridge near her head. A piece of metal sheered off, striking her above the left eye. She cursed, hand flying to her head to access the injury. Her other hand kept her gun pointing down the aisle.

Another shot winged by her head and Juliet realized the bullets were coming from above them. “They have a shooter on the catwalk,” she shouted to Carlton. She moved closer to the fridge away from the wall, hiding herself in its blind spot. She trusted Carlton to do the same, too busy fending off another drug member to check on him.

She wiped her eye as blood dripped into it, obscuring her vision. She really needed to bandage it, but with shots coming from multiple directions, she couldn't chance dropping her guard. She really hoped backup arrived soon. She wasn't sure how much longer they could hold out.

At that moment, Juliet heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

“Freeze! SBPD! Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air!”

Juliet didn't relax her guard, knowing it would take some time for the cops to make their way to their position. Still, she felt relieved knowing help was finally here.

Sounds of gunfire and shouted orders echoed around the warehouse. The gang was not going to go down without a fight. Slowly, she heard the tide of battle turn. The gunfire tapered off, the sounds of fighting now only in isolated pockets.

The next person to come around the corner was not a gang member. She nearly shot him before she noticed the police issued vest. She didn't recognize him, but he recognized her. “Detective O'Hara, Detective Lassiter,” he said, stepping carefully around the body blocking her end of the aisle. He reached for his shoulder mike. “I found them. East wall near the refrigerators.”

She lowered her gun and leaned against the fridge next to her, needing the support for her suddenly shaking limbs. She looked over towards her partner, still keeping guard of his end of the row. He tensed as someone came around the corner, then relaxed when he saw it was another officer. He lowered his guard, looking back at her and meeting her eyes. She nodded, saying she was alright. He nodded back, leaning his back against a fridge and taking deep breaths.

They had survived. It was over.

* * *

The next half hour was somewhat of a blur to Juliet. She and Carlton were separated temporarily. She was lead back through the warehouse to the center, where a command center of sorts had been set up. A medic quickly checked her out, bandaging her head and advising her to go to the hospital for stitches. Then an officer came to take a quick statement of what happened. She tried to answer the questions as best she could, but exhaustion was making her mind fuzzy.

After giving her statement, Juliet looked around for her partner. She finally spotted a shadowy figure on the second floor catwalk, pacing back and forth. She found the stairs and climbed up to him.

The catwalk was more dimly lit than the lower level. She peered through the shadows, spotting Carlton about halfway down. He was walking slowly along the railing, stopping every few feet to peer out over the warehouse. As she walked towards him he stopped, kneeling down and holding his arms up like he was aiming for something. Following where he was looking, she saw it was the aisle where the shooter had taken out the two men sneaking up on them.

“This guy is one hell of a shot,” Carlton said, glancing up at her. “He had to shoot through the shelves to get the second guy. There are not many who could do that.”

“Whose says it's a guy?” Juliet asked. “It could have just as easily been a woman.”

Carlton stood up, brushing his pants off. “That yell sounded male to me.” He walked slowly along the catwalk, periodically looking out over the railing and nodding to himself. He stopped about halfway down, studying the floor of the catwalk. He turned and leaned his back on the railway, deep in thought.

“Carlton?” Juliet asked hesitantly.

“Do you remember the path we took across the floor?” Carlton asked.

Juliet followed the path with her eyes, then looked at the path the shooter took along the walkway. She quickly realized what Carlton was saying. “He was following our movement, keeping those men away from us.”

“Until he got hit,” Carlton said, nodding towards the floor. Juliet looked down and saw a small pool of drying blood. Not enough to be life-threatening, but enough that the shooter would have to get the injury treated. “I already sent the order to alert every hospital and clinic within 100 miles.”

“If he's a gang member himself, he won't show up at a hospital,” Juliet said.

“Well, let's hope he does. I'm real interested in finding this guy who takes on a gang for two complete strangers,” Carlton said. He pushed away from the railing, wincing as he flexed his left arm. Juliet could see fresh blood soaking the jacket wrapped around it.

“Did you get your arm checked by the paramedics?” Juliet asked sharply.

“I have work to do. It can wait,” Carlton said.

“Until what? You bleed out? You're going to the hospital Carlton,” Juliet said.

“O'Hara – ”

“Maybe if you're lucky, the shooter will end up at the same hospital as you,” Juliet said. She ignored her partner's protests as she pulled him down the stairs, shouting for a medic.

* * *

“There we go, detective, good as new,” the doctor said, tying off the last suture. She grabbed a bandage from the table next to him and taped it to Carlton's arm. “Keep the wound clean and dry. The stitches can be removed in a week. Until then, try to limit use of that arm as much as possible. The wound was deep and needs a chance to heal.”

“Great. Can I go now?” Carlton asked.

“I'll go get your discharge papers,” she said.

O'Hara entered the room right after the doctor left. His gaze immediately went to the white bandage on her forehead. “What's the damage?”

“Three stitches, along with scraps and bruises,” she said, coming to stand next to the bed. “You?”

“Six stitches. The same with the scraps and bruises.” He had one spectacular bruise already forming on his knee from diving behind the refrigerator after he got shot. He knew if he didn't ice it soon, he wouldn't be able to walk on it tomorrow. “Any word on the shooter yet?”

“Nothing yet,” O'Hara said. She sighed, looking tired as she leaned against the wall. The last couple of hours had taken a toll on her.

To be honest, they had taken a toll on him as well. All he wanted was to go home and pass out for the next 12 hours with Marlowe by his side. He wouldn't, not until they found the shooter, but that didn't mean O'Hara had to stay here as well. “You should go home,” he said.

“So should you,” O'Hara countered. “If I stay and help, we'll find this guy a lot quicker.”

Carlton sighed, knowing from her tone arguing wouldn't change anything. His partner knew him too well. He couldn't deny it would go faster if O'Hara was there to help.

It was late, the only patients in the ER at the moment being those from the shootout. It was quiet enough Carlton could hear two people approaching his room, their voices unfortunately familiar.

“We're here, so you might as well get it checked out,” Guster was saying.

“I'm fine, Gus,” Spencer said as he entered the room. His eyes immediately went to O'Hara. “Jules!” He went over to her, limping slightly on his right leg. “Are you ok?” He tentatively touched the bandage over her eye.

“I'm fine Shawn,” O'Hara said, taking his hand. “It's just a scratch.”

Spencer looked over at Carlton. “Three stitches,” he said, ignoring the glare his partner gave him for ratting her out.

“That's more than a scratch,” Spencer said worriedly, looking back at O'Hara. “How did it happen? Did you hit your head? Any chance of a brain injury? Juliet,” he held her face in his hands, looking into her eyes, “are you dying?”

O'Hara took his hands and gently pulled them off her face. “Shawn. I'm fine,” she said slowly.

“You're fine,” he repeated, nodding. “Of course you're fine. Why wouldn't you be? It was just a little gunfight. Besides, Lassiekins was there. He wouldn't let anything happen to you.” Spencer glanced over at Carlton. Despite his carefree tone, his look was more serious than Carlton was used to seeing on the younger man's face. He blinked and it was gone, hidden behind the fake psychic's normal laidback smile.

“So Lassie, let's see what's wrong with you.” Spencer hopped up on the bed next to Carlton, staring intently into his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He put his hand in front of Carlton's face, rapidly changing the number of fingers he was holding erect.

“Knock it off, Spencer,” Carlton said, slapping his hand away.

“But how are we going to know if you have a head injury if I don't test you?” Spencer said.

“I didn't hit my head. It's just my arm,” Carlton said.

Spencer glanced at his arm, an odd expression on his face. “Good. Then you'll be back chasing bad guys in no time,” he said, grin back on his face. He patted Carlton on the shoulder and jumped off the bed.

Spencer hissed in pain as soon as his feet hit the floor. He reached back and grabbed the bed to keep himself from falling, holding his right leg off the ground.

“Shawn, are you ok?” O'Hara asked.

“Fine Jules. Never better,” he said in a strained voice. His body was tense and his knuckles were white from gripping the bed so hard.

“Shawn, just tell her,” Guster said.

“There's nothing to tell,” Spencer said, glaring at his friend.

“Shawn,” O'Hara said.

Spencer sighed. “I just bruised it on my desk early,” he said, finally relaxing his grip on the bed. He still wasn't putting any weight on his leg though.

“That's not what happened,” Guster said.

“Fine, I wanted to save you the embarrassment, but if you insist.” Spencer leaned in closer to O'Hara. “Gus tripped me and I fell into the desk.”

“I didn't trip you,” Guster said indignantly.

“Then how did I hurt my leg, Gus?” Spencer looked at O'Hara. “Who are you going to believe Jules, me or him?”

O'Hara wasn't paying attention. “Shawn you're bleeding.”

Carlton looked down. There was a small red patch on the side of Spencer's leg that he was sure hadn't been there when he entered the room.

“It's nothing Jules,” Spencer said, trying to hide his leg from view. He winced when his leg bumped the bed, hands resuming their tight grip on the sheets.

O'Hara grabbed a pair of scissors off the table next to Carlton and knelt down next to Spencer. “Jules, these are my favorite jeans,” Spencer whined as she cut a slit up the side of his pant leg. She ignored him, moving the fabric out of the way to reveal a blood soaked bandage.

“I thought you said you bruised it,” she said accusingly.

“I didn't want you to worry,” Spencer said. “I'm fine.”

“No you're not.” She carefully removed the bandage, exposing a long bloody furrow in the side of his calf. She glanced up at Carlton, meeting his eyes, before looking over at Gus. “This is going to need stitches. Gus, can you go get a doctor?”

“Sure.” He ignored Spencer's pleading look and left the room to track down a doctor.

O'Hara grabbed some gauze and crouched back down by Spencer's leg. He hissed when she started applying pressure to the wound. “Take it easy, Jules,” he whined.

“Spencer.”

The man looked up warily at Carlton. “Yeah Lassie?”

“Why is there a bullet wound on your leg?”

Spencer glanced at O'Hara, who was keeping her focus on the wound. “The corner of my desk is sharp and I cut my leg on it when Gus tripped me.” O'Hara snorted. Spencer rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “You're not going to buy that huh?”

“I know what a bullet wound looks like, Shawn,” she said.

“There's a perfectly logical explanation for all this,” Spencer said.

Before he could explain, Guster returned, Carlton's doctor in tow. “I hadn't heard another patient came in,” she said, bending down to get a look at Spencer's leg. O'Hara stood up and moved out of the way to give her more room. “This is going to need stitches.” She stood and motioned everyone out of the room. “I need room to work. You can see your friend when I'm through.”

The three of them filed out, forming a huddle in the hallway a little ways down from Spencer's room. Carlton turned to the fake psychic's partner in crime. “Guster, why the hell is Spencer in there getting treated for a gunshot wound?”

“Shawn was shot?” Guster asked, too shocked for it to be fake. “He told me he cut his leg on some broken glass.”

O'Hara sighed. “What happened tonight?”

“I got a call around 9 from Shawn asking me to pick him up outside a bar near the marina. Lucky Lou's. When I got there the first thing he asked for was a first aid kit. He said he cut his leg investigating something for a case.” Guster looked apologetically at O'Hara. “I didn't look too closely because of all the blood.”

The bar was just a few blocks away from the warehouse. Carlton had a pretty good idea what had happened, but he needed to confirm some things with Spencer first.

“How was Shawn when you found him?” O'Hara asked. Carlton could see the same suspicions spinning in her head about Spencer's activities that night.

Guster frowned. “He acted like he was fine, but I've known Shawn for years. He was pretty shaken up. But anytime I pressed for details he blew me off. He had me bring him to his apartment to get a change of clothes, then insisted we drive to the hospital. I didn't even hear about the shootout until we got here.”

O'Hara abruptly turned away, taking a few steps down the hallway. Guster started to go after her, but Carlton put out a hand to stop him. “Leave her.” Guster looked confused, but unlike Spencer he knew when to listen to an order.

Carlton leaned back against the wall. He took the opportunity to call Marlowe, assuring her he was OK and that he would be home soon. Afterwards he stood there quietly, arms crossed, watching his two companions.

Guster stood nearby, alternating his worried glances between the door to Spencer's room and O'Hara. His partner had found a chair and was now sitting with her head bowed, staring at the floor. Neither of them spoke, lost in their own thoughts.

They all turned as the doctor exited Spencer's room and walked towards their group. O'Hara jumped up and hurried over to them. “He's free to go,” the doctor said. “Just make sure he takes it easy on that leg the next few days.”

“Thank you, doctor,” O'Hara said.

Carlton turned to Guster. “I want you to wait out here. O'Hara and I need to talk to Spencer alone.”

Guster looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Carlton's face made him stop. “OK. But you know I'm going to find out what's going on.”

“I know,” Carlton said simply.

They left Guster in the hallway, Carlton leading the way into the room, O'Hara on his heels. Spencer was sitting on the bed, a fresh white bandage on his leg. “Interrogation time?” he asked when they stopped in front of him.

Carlton didn't answer but O'Hara nodded her head. “We need to know what happened,” she said.

“OK,” Spencer said, spreading his arms. “Ask away.”

“Why were you at the warehouse?” Carlton asked.

Spencer for once didn't try to evade the question. “I found out it was a trap. They were using the other gang to sell the drugs to keep suspicion off themselves. They knew we were getting close and decided to cover their tracks, get rid of those involved. Neither one of you were answering your phones and I knew backup wouldn't get there in time.”

“Where'd you get the gun?” Carlton asked.

Spencer looked at him in surprise, then looked at O'Hara. She steadily met his gaze, having also figured out the identity of their mystery shooter. “Under the passenger seat of your car,” he said, looking back at Carlton. “Don't worry, I put it back when I was done.”

“That was incredibly stupid Shawn. You could have been killed,” O'Hara said, the slightly shaky quality of her voice betraying the fear underlying her anger.

“So could you.” The raw emotion in Spencer's voice was almost painful to hear. O'Hara's breath caught in her throat as Spencer looked at her, the fear and panic he felt at almost losing her clear on his face. Carlton looked away, embarrassed at witnessing such an intimate moment between the two.

“They're going to know you were there as soon as the DNA test comes back on the blood,” Carlton said after a moment. He looked back at the couple, glad to see they had managed to get themselves back under control.

Spencer nodded. “I know. I'll explain everything to the Chief.”

“Tomorrow,” O'Hara said. “The Chief gave us the day off, but I have to go in to give my full statement. You can give yours then.”

“Tomorrow it is then,” Spencer agreed. “Now, can we get out of here?”

“Gladly,” O'Hara said.

“I should have a change of clothes in the car. Can you ask Gus to go get them?” Spencer asked.

O'Hara looked at him for a long moment. Spencer stared back. Whatever communication was going on was completely lost on Carlton. “OK,” O'Hara said eventually. She glanced at Carlton, looking almost worried, before she left the room.

Carlton started to follow her before Spencer stopped him. “Lassiter, can I talk to you for a minute?” When he turned to look at the younger man, he seemed uncharacteristically nervous. “And can you shut the door?”

Carlton shut the door and crossed back to stand in front of Spencer. The younger man was silent for a long moment, staring down at the floor. “Look, Spencer, I don't have all night – ”

“How many dead?”

His voice was barely a whisper, so quiet Carlton almost missed it. It was still enough to make him pause and take a closer look at Spencer. His entire body was tense, hands gripping the mattress tightly once again.

He raised his head and looked at Carlton. “How many, Lassie?”

Carlton sighed. “Eight pronounced on scene, one died on the way to the hospital.”

Spencer nodded, gaze returning to the floor. “Do you know. . . Can you tell. . .?”

Carlton understood what he was asking. “There's no way to know until the autopsy which shots killed those men.”

“How many do you think were because of me?” Spencer asked quietly. When Carlton hesitated, he looked him square in the face. “Don't lie to me. I'll find out the truth eventually.”

“From what I saw, three, maybe four men,” Carlton said.

Spencer let out a slow breath, eyes back on the floor. “I've never killed anyone before.”

The quiet, almost childlike way Spencer said those word tore through Carlton. He was reminded of the first time he shot someone. It was a justified killing, but he'd had nightmares for weeks afterwards. Even now he sometimes wondered if there was another choice he could have made. Spencer would be feeling the same way, having the same doubts. The difference was Carlton had been trained for this job, knew the risks. Spencer, despite having worked closely with the department for years, was still a civilian. He should have never been in the position he found himself tonight. Yet if he hadn't, Carlton might not be standing here right now.

He pushed away those morbid thoughts. He could deal with his own issues later. Right now he needed to focus on the man in front of him. “You did a good thing tonight Spencer. You got half the Perro Locos arrested and stopped the distribution of a dangerous drug. You saved a lot of lives.”

Spencer glanced at him, then looked away again. “That doesn't change what I did,” he said, shaking his head.

Carlton crossed his arms, considering the man in front of him. Most of the time he saw Spencer as an overgrown man-child, someone he barely considered a colleague forced on him by his boss. Now was one of the rare times Spencer was seen as a friend. Right now his friend needed his help dealing with the traumatic events of the evening.

“Why did you do it?” he asked quietly.

“I knew you were walking into a dangerous situation and didn't want Juliet or you getting hurt,” Spencer said.

“You could have just called for backup. You didn't have to go in there,” Carlton said.

“I couldn't just stand there when you and Juliet were in danger. I had to do something,” Spencer said.

Carlton remembered a gun pressed to his head and suppressed a shudder. “I'm glad you did. You saved our lives.” He met Spencer's eyes as the man looked over at him. “Thank you.”

“No probably Lassie,” Spencer said, a hint of his usual smile on his face. It faded in the next instant as he went back to his study of the floor.

Carlton walked over and leaned on the bed next to Spencer. “There are two kinds of cops. There are those who choose to do the job, like McNab and Dobson. They care about the job, they do it well, but they could have been equally happy doing something else. Then there are those born to the job. People like your father, Juliet, the Chief.”

“You,” Spencer pointed out.

“Me,” Carlton agreed. “And also you.”

Spencer snorted. “I'm not a cop. You've been telling me that for years.”

“Why did you get involved in this case?” Carlton asked.

“The Chief called me in,” Spencer said.

“After you had broken into two crime scenes,” Carlton said. “You were interested in this case before that.”

“It was a big, high-profile case. Why wouldn't I be interested?” Spencer asked.

“You're avoiding the question,” Carlton said.

“What question was that?” Spencer asked innocently.

“The real reason you took the case,” Carlton said with exasperation.

“I already told you,” Spencer said.

Carlton sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “If you won't tell me, at least be honest with yourself why you're doing this.”

“Fine. It will give me something to think about besides the men I killed,” Spencer snapped.

Nothing he said seemed to be helping. Probably because he wasn't the person Spencer should be talking to about this. “You should talk to your dad,” Carlton said.

“That's your great advice?” Spencer said. “You're pushing me off on someone else?”

“Just trust me,” Carlton said. “Your dad might be retired, but he was still a cop. Talk to him.”

“All right, I'll talk to him,” Spencer said. “Though I don't see what good it will do. He'll probably just lecture me about what an idiot I was.”

“Maybe not,” Carlton said. He had seen the elder Spencer when his son had been shot and kidnapped. While undoubtly a lecture had occurred at some point, his first instinct upon finding Shawn had been to make sure his son was safe. He cared about his son more than the younger Spencer seemed to realize. He wouldn't let Shawn down now when he needed his father's help.

Spencer snorted, clearly not believing Carlton. It didn't matter. He knew he would end up talking to his father eventually, if only to prove Carlton wrong.

“That was some nice shooting, by the way,” Carlton said. “You and I should hit the range sometime.”

Spencer looked surprised by the offer. “I don't go much these days, but if you need some pointers I'd be glad to mentor you.” He said it in a teasing tone, but Carlton could see a hint of nervousness at the idea. He remembered his own reluctance to pick up a gun again after his first kill and suspected Spencer felt the same way.

“Monday, 4 o'clock. Do not be late,” Carlton said.

“Or what? You'll shoot me?” Spencer asked sarcastically.

“Worse. I'll tell your father,” Carlton said.

“Tell him what?” Spencer asked.

“Everything. This entire conversation.” Carlton turned so he could look Spencer straight in the eyes. “And the fact that your afraid to hold a gun again.”

“I'm _not_ afraid,” Spencer said defiantly, which just confirmed Carlton's suspicions.

“Then I'll see you Monday.” He pushed away from the bed and headed towards the door before Spencer had a chance to answer. He would show. Spencer could no more ignore a challenge like that than he could.

Carlton paused in the doorway. “Remember you weren't the only one there tonight.” He spared a quick glance back at Spencer, noting the confused look on his face, before he left the room.

O'Hara and Guster were waiting in the hall. “What did Shawn want?” Guster asked.

He glanced at O'Hara. She had had ample time to fill Gus in on what had happened that night, and judging by his face she had done so. She hadn't, however, shared what she guessed, what she knew going by the last look she had given Carlton before leaving the room, that Spencer had wanted to talk about.

“You'll have to ask him yourself,” Carlton said. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going home.”

O'Hara stayed by the door, but Guster followed him down the hallway. “Lassiter, wait up!” He grabbed Carlton's arm, forcing him to stop.

Carlton sighed wearily. “Guster, it's late and I am beyond exhausted. Can this wait until tomorrow?”

“I just need to know one thing,” Guster said, his voice tinged with concern. “Is Shawn going to be ok?”

Maybe Guster wasn't so clueless after all. “Spencer will be fine,” Carlton said. Guster dropped his arm with a nod, looking less worried than a moment ago. Carlton turned and resumed his walk out of the hospital.

Spencer would get through this. He was tough and already had a support group in place. His friend, O'Hara, his dad, even himself would make sure the psychic was OK.

And he knew Spencer in turn would be there for O'Hara tonight.

Himself he wasn't worried about. He had dealt with this kind of thing before. In years past he would probably hit a bar and get drunk enough he would pass out without any nightmares. Now he had someone to go home to, to help chase the nightmares away.

But first he had a job to do. He pulled out his phone, dialing a familiar number.

“Chief? We got an ID on our mystery shooter.”

* * *

Shawn studied his hands. There was a small cut on the knuckle of his right hand, but otherwise they looked the same as they did this morning. He felt they should look different. These hands had been used to kill people. There should be some obvious sign of this new fact, some message telling the world what he had done. He would always remember the feel of the gun in his hands as he fired those fatal shots, ended those lives.

He had looked at himself in the mirror of Lassiter's hospital room before everyone came back in. Besides looking exhausted, his appearance hadn't changed. Except for his eyes. They always said the eyes were the windows to the soul. His soul had been through a lot tonight.

He could remember clearly the first man he had killed, the man holding a gun to Lassiter's head. He hadn't had time to process it at the time. He had to keep going, keep Lassiter and Juliet safe. Now he kept replaying the way the man's body jerked as his bullet hit him. The man hadn't fallen until the second shot, but Shawn knew the first one was more than enough to kill him.

“Shawn.”

He looked up to see Juliet standing in the doorway. “Hey Jules,” he said quietly.

She came in and sat down next to him. “You okay?”

He forced himself to smile. “Never better.”

She leaned against his side, laying her head against his shoulder. “Liar.” She turned her head to look up at his face. “Want to talk about it?”

He was about to answer when he noticed she was trembling slightly. He remembered Lassiter's words from earlier and realized he wasn't the only one struggling to deal with what happened that night. Sliding his hand down to grab her hand where it was resting on his thigh, he pulled away slightly to look at her. “Do you?”

“Maybe later,” she said quietly. “Right now I just want to go home and go to bed.”

“OK. Later then,” Shawn said. He carefully slid off the bed, wincing slightly as his leg hit the floor. He pulled Juliet tight against them as they left the room, her head resting against his chest.

“You don't seem to be limping as much,” she said.

“The doctor gave me some sweet painkillers before stitching me up. Though we should get home before the buzz wears off,” Shawn said.

Gus was waiting for them by the exit. “I thought you might need a ride.”

“Thanks buddy,” Shawn said gratefully.

They got into the Blueberry, Shawn sliding into the backseat besides Juliet. He held her against him, her head resting against his shoulder. Everyone was silent on the ride over to his and Juliet's home, giving time Shawn to think about the things Lassiter had said.

Even before he started working for the department, he would call in tips. Most of the info he gleaned watching the news, but some required a little bit of research to give the cops enough to nab the bad guy. He didn't always take the credit either, like the blue sedan tip that led to Lassiter catching the Back Bay Killer. Not only had he called that tip in anonymously, it had required a couple sleepless nights as well. It had been worth it when the killer was finally caught.

One of the victims on this latest case was the boyfriend of the girl who worked at a gift shop a couple doors down from Psych. He had seen her crying in the window and gone inside to find out what was wrong. Her boyfriend didn't do drugs, but he had met up one night with some friends from college who did. They had convinced him to try it. His first experience had ended up being his last.

Shawn didn't remember making a conscious decision to take the case. He just held her while she cried into his shoulder and knew he had to do something.

He took the case not for fame, or money, or even the satisfaction of a job well done. He took it so no one else had to go through what Sarah was going through. He took it to keep people safe.

It was that same reason that led Lassiter and Juliet to the warehouse tonight. Two detectives and him. Three people, just trying to make the world a safer place. Three people doing the job they were born to do.

They pulled up in front of the house. Shawn helped Juliet out of the car, sending her up the front walkway as he circled around the car to the driver's side. Gus lowered his window and Shawn leaned down to talk to him.

“Thanks again for the ride,” Shawn said.

Gus waved him off. “No problem. It's not like either of you had any way to get home. Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow so you can go get your bike?”

Shawn shook his head. “I think I'm going to spend the day with Juliet. I'll have her drive me over to get it. But I'll see you Saturday at Psych. We'll do a John Hughes movie marathon.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Gus said.

He turned and checked Juliet's progress towards the house. She was far enough away that she probably couldn't hear him. “Lassie wants me to meet him at the shooting range on Monday. Since he's working, that probably means the one in the station. I can probably score us a case while I'm there.”

“You think the Chief is going to let us on a case so soon after everything that happened?” Gus asked.

Shawn smiled. “What the Chief doesn't know won't hurt her.” He held out his fist to Gus. “Later dude.”

Gus stuck his hand out the window and bumped his fist against Shawn's. “Later man. Call me if you need anything.”

Shawn stepped back as Gus pulled away from the curb, watching his friend drive off. He knew Gus was worried about him. But he wouldn't pressure Shawn to talk, not unless he thought it was for his own good. After years of friendship and countless adventures together, the two knew how to get each other through almost anything. He knew in the coming weeks Gus would be their for him when he needed him, just like Shawn would be their for him if their situation was reversed. Shawn knew he was lucky to have as good a friend as Gus.

He turned away from the road and hurried to where Juliet was waiting at the front door. He slowed as he got a look at her face. “What?”

“Already plotting your next case?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He winced inwardly, really not wanting to start a fight right now. “Well, I can't just sit back and do nothing,” he said, trying to reason with her. “People need my help.”

Juliet surprised him by reaching up and pulling him down into a kiss. He wrapped an arm around her, feeling his tension, his fear, his worry, melting out of him under her gentle touch. He could feel the tension draining out of her body as well. It wasn't the desperate kiss of those surviving a brush with death. Rather it was the slow, passionate kiss of those who know they can get through anything with each other by their sides.

“I'm glad,” she whispered against his lips when they pulled apart.

He rested his foreheard against hers, unwilling to break contact.

“I love you Jules.”

She reached up and gave him a small peck on the lips. “I love you too Shawn.”

Arms wrapped around each other, they walked into the house.

**Author's Note:**

> This story turned out nothing like I originally planned. I started with the idea of Shawn proving he's good with a gun and somehow ended up with this. But I think it all worked out for the best in the end.  
> Please let me know what you think of it.


End file.
